Original
Modern English
He that had wit would think that I had none, To bury so much gold under a tree, And never after to inherit it. Let him that thinks of me so abjectly Know that this gold must coin a stratagem, Which, cunningly effected, will beget A very excellent piece of villany: And so repose, sweet gold, for their unrest
The person who thinks I have no sense Would believe I’m burying all this gold Under a tree and never intend to take it back. Let those who think so little of me Know that this gold will fund a plan, Which, when it’s cleverly executed, will create A truly excellent act of wickedness: And so, sweet gold, rest in peace for now,
That have their alms out of the empress’ chest.
For those who get their charity from the empress’ chest.
My lovely Aaron, wherefore look’st thou sad, When every thing doth make a gleeful boast? The birds chant melody on every bush, The snake lies rolled in the cheerful sun, The green leaves quiver with the cooling wind And make a chequer’d shadow on the ground: Under their sweet shade, Aaron, let us sit, And, whilst the babbling echo mocks the hounds, Replying shrilly to the well-tuned horns, As if a double hunt were heard at once, Let us sit down and mark their yelping noise; And, after conflict such as was supposed The wandering prince and Dido once enjoy’d, When with a happy storm they were surprised And curtain’d with a counsel-keeping cave, We may, each wreathed in the other’s arms, Our pastimes done, possess a golden slumber; Whiles hounds and horns and sweet melodious birds Be unto us as is a nurse’s song Of lullaby to bring her babe asleep.
My dear Aaron, why do you look so sad, When everything around us is celebrating? The birds sing joyfully from every bush, The snake basks in the bright, warm sun, The leaves tremble in the cool breeze And make a dappled shade on the ground: Let’s sit under their sweet shade, Aaron, And, while the echo mocks the hounds, Answering loudly to the well-tuned horns, As if two hunts were happening at once, Let’s relax and enjoy the noise they make; And after a struggle like the one The wandering prince and Dido once shared, When a storm took them by surprise And they found shelter in a secret cave, We can rest, each of us in the other’s arms, And, once our games are over, fall into a golden sleep; While the hounds and horns and sweet birds Will be like a nurse’s lullaby To soothe a baby to sleep.
Madam, though Venus govern your desires, Saturn is dominator over mine: What signifies my deadly-standing eye, My silence and my cloudy melancholy, My fleece of woolly hair that now uncurls Even as an adder when she doth unroll To do some fatal execution? No, madam, these are no venereal signs: Vengeance is in my heart, death in my hand, Blood and revenge are hammering in my head. Hark Tamora, the empress of my soul, Which never hopes more heaven than rests in thee, This is the day of doom for Bassianus: His Philomel must lose her tongue to-day, Thy sons make pillage of her chastity And wash their hands in Bassianus’ blood. Seest thou this letter? take it up, I pray thee, And give the king this fatal plotted scroll. Now question me no more; we are espied; Here comes a parcel of our hopeful booty, Which dreads not yet their lives’ destruction.
Madam, though Venus rules your desires, Saturn controls mine: What does it matter if I look grim, Stay silent, or seem full of dark thoughts, My woolly hair uncoiling like a snake Ready to strike with deadly intent? No, madam, these are not signs of love: Vengeance fills my heart, death is in my hand, Blood and revenge are pounding in my head. Listen, Tamora, the empress of my soul, Who has more power over me than heaven itself, This is the day of reckoning for Bassianus: His Philomel will lose her voice today, Your sons will violate her purity And wash their hands in Bassianus’ blood. Do you see this letter? Pick it up, please, And give the king this deadly message. Don’t ask me any more questions; we’re being watched; Here comes a group of our promising prey, Who don’t yet know their lives are about to end.
Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life!
Ah, my sweet Moor, sweeter to me than life!
No more, great empress; Bassianus comes: Be cross with him; and I’ll go fetch thy sons To back thy quarrels, whatsoe’er they be.
No more, great empress; Bassianus is coming: Be tough with him; I’ll go fetch your sons To back you up, whatever your quarrels are.
Who have we here? Rome’s royal empress, Unfurnish’d of her well-beseeming troop? Or is it Dian, habited like her, Who hath abandoned her holy groves To see the general hunting in this forest?
Who’s this? The empress of Rome, Without her usual entourage? Or is this Diana, dressed like her, Who’s left her sacred groves To join the general hunt in this forest?
Saucy controller of our private steps! Had I the power that some say Dian had, Thy temples should be planted presently With horns, as was Actaeon’s; and the hounds Should drive upon thy new-transformed limbs, Unmannerly intruder as thou art!
Impudent controller of our private movements! If I had the power some say Diana had, Your temples would soon be decorated With horns, just like Actaeon’s; and the hounds Would chase your newly transformed body, Unwelcome intruder that you are!
Under your patience, gentle empress, ’Tis thought you have a goodly gift in horning; And to be doubted that your Moor and you Are singled forth to try experiments: Jove shield your husband from his hounds to-day! ’Tis pity they should take him for a stag.
With all due respect, gentle empress, It’s rumored you have quite a talent for creating enemies; And it’s to be feared that you and your Moor Are singled out to perform some cruel experiment: May Jupiter protect your husband from his hounds today! It’s a shame they might mistake him for a stag.
Believe me, queen, your swarth Cimmerian Doth make your honour of his body’s hue, Spotted, detested, and abominable. Why are you sequester’d from all your train, Dismounted from your snow-white goodly steed. And wander’d hither to an obscure plot, Accompanied but with a barbarous Moor, If foul desire had not conducted you?
Believe me, queen, your dark-skinned Moor Makes your honor look as ugly as his skin, Stained, hated, and disgusting. Why are you separated from your whole group, Taken off your beautiful white horse? And wandered here to this lonely place, Only with a savage Moor to accompany you, If not for your wicked desires leading you here?
And, being intercepted in your sport, Great reason that my noble lord be rated For sauciness. I pray you, let us hence, And let her joy her raven-colour’d love; This valley fits the purpose passing well.
And, being caught in your action, It’s only fair that my noble lord be criticized For his boldness. Please, let’s leave, And let her enjoy her dark-skinned lover; This valley is perfect for that purpose.
The king my brother shall have note of this.
My brother the king will hear about this.
Ay, for these slips have made him noted long: Good king, to be so mightily abused!
Yes, for these actions have already made him notorious: Good king, to be so terribly mistreated!
Why have I patience to endure all this?
Why do I have the patience to put up with all this?
How now, dear sovereign, and our gracious mother! Why doth your highness look so pale and wan?
How now, dear queen, and our gracious mother! Why do you look so pale and sickly?
Have I not reason, think you, to look pale? These two have ’ticed me hither to this place: A barren detested vale, you see it is; The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, O’ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe: Here never shines the sun; here nothing breeds, Unless the nightly owl or fatal raven: And when they show’d me this abhorred pit, They told me, here, at dead time of the night, A thousand fiends, a thousand hissing snakes, Ten thousand swelling toads, as many urchins, Would make such fearful and confused cries As any mortal body hearing it Should straight fall mad, or else die suddenly. No sooner had they told this hellish tale, But straight they told me they would bind me here Unto the body of a dismal yew, And leave me to this miserable death: And then they call’d me foul adulteress, Lascivious Goth, and all the bitterest terms That ever ear did hear to such effect: And, had you not by wondrous fortune come, This vengeance on me had they executed. Revenge it, as you love your mother’s life, Or be ye not henceforth call’d my children.
Don’t you think I have reason to look pale? These two have tricked me into coming here: A desolate, hated valley, as you can see; The trees, even in summer, look barren and weak, Covered in moss and poisonous mistletoe: The sun never shines here; nothing grows, Except for the owl or the grim raven at night: And when they showed me this dreadful pit, They told me that here, at midnight, A thousand demons, a thousand hissing snakes, Ten thousand bloated toads, as many pests, Would make such terrifying and confusing sounds That any person hearing it Would immediately go insane, or die on the spot. No sooner had they finished telling me this hellish story, Than they said they would tie me here To the body of a sad, old yew tree, And leave me to die this miserable death: And then they called me a foul adulteress, A lustful Goth, and used every insult That anyone could hear and feel its sting: And if you hadn’t come by pure luck, They would have carried out this revenge on me. Avenge me, as you value your mother’s life, Or never again call yourselves my children.
This is a witness that I am thy son.
This proves that I am your son.
And this for me, struck home to show my strength.
And this is for me, struck deep to show my strength.
Ay, come, Semiramis, nay, barbarous Tamora, For no name fits thy nature but thy own!
Yes, come on, Semiramis, no, barbaric Tamora, No name fits your nature better than your own!
Give me thy poniard; you shall know, my boys Your mother’s hand shall right your mother’s wrong.
Give me your dagger; you’ll see, my boys, Your mother’s hand will right your mother’s wrongs.
Stay, madam; here is more belongs to her; First thrash the corn, then after burn the straw: This minion stood upon her chastity, Upon her nuptial vow, her loyalty, And with that painted hope braves your mightiness: And shall she carry this unto her grave?
Wait, madam; here’s more for her; First thresh the grain, then burn the straw: This girl clung to her purity, Her wedding vow, her loyalty, And with that false hope defied your power: And should she take this to her grave?
An if she do, I would I were an eunuch. Drag hence her husband to some secret hole, And make his dead trunk pillow to our lust.
And if she does, I wish I were a eunuch. Drag her husband to some secret hole, And make his dead body a pillow for our lust.
But when ye have the honey ye desire, Let not this wasp outlive, us both to sting.
But once you’ve got the honey you want, Don’t let this wasp live to sting us both.
I warrant you, madam, we wil l make that sure. Come, mistress, now perforce we will enjoy That nice-preserved honesty of yours.
I promise you, madam, we will make sure of that. Come, mistress, now by force we will enjoy That sweet, preserved purity of yours.
O Tamora! thou bear’st a woman’s face,--
Oh Tamora! you have the face of a woman,--
I will not hear her speak; away with her!
I won’t listen to her; get rid of her!
Sweet lords, entreat her hear me but a word.
Sweet lords, please let her hear me for just a moment.
Listen, fair madam: let it be your glory To see her tears; but be your heart to them As unrelenting flint to drops of rain.
Listen, fair madam: let it be your pride To see her tears; but let your heart to them Be as unfeeling as stone to drops of rain.
When did the tiger’s young ones teach the dam? O, do not learn her wrath; she taught it thee; The milk thou suck’dst from her did turn to marble; Even at thy teat thou hadst thy tyranny. Yet every mother breeds not sons alike:
When did the tiger’s cubs teach their mother? Oh, don’t learn her anger; she taught it to you; The milk you suckled from her turned to stone; Even at your breast, you had your cruelty. Yet not every mother has the same kind of sons:
Do thou entreat her show a woman pity.
Do you ask her to show some womanly pity.
What, wouldst thou have me prove myself a bastard?
What, do you want me to prove I’m a bastard?
’Tis true; the raven doth not hatch a lark: Yet have I heard,--O, could I find it now!-- The lion moved with pity did endure To have his princely paws pared all away: Some say that ravens foster forlorn children, The whilst their own birds famish in their nests: O, be to me, though thy hard heart say no, Nothing so kind, but something pitiful!
It’s true; the raven doesn’t hatch a lark: Yet I’ve heard it,--oh, if I could find it now!-- The lion, moved by pity, endured To have his royal paws clipped away: Some say that ravens raise abandoned young, While their own chicks starve in their nests: Oh, be to me, though your hard heart says no, Something kind, if not fully compassionate!
I know not what it means; away with her!
I don’t know what you mean; get rid of her!
O, let me teach thee! for my father’s sake, That gave thee life, when well he might have slain thee, Be not obdurate, open thy deaf ears.
Oh, let me teach you! For my father’s sake, Who gave you life when he could have killed you, Don’t be so stubborn, open your deaf ears.
Hadst thou in person ne’er offended me, Even for his sake am I pitiless. Remember, boys, I pour’d forth tears in vain, To save your brother from the sacrifice; But fierce Andronicus would not relent; Therefore, away with her, and use her as you will, The worse to her, the better loved of me.
If you had never personally wronged me, Even for his sake, I would still be ruthless. Remember, boys, I wept in vain, To save your brother from sacrifice; But fierce Andronicus wouldn’t soften; So, get rid of her, and treat her however you want, The worse she’s treated, the more I’ll love you.
O Tamora, be call’d a gentle queen, And with thine own hands kill me in this place! For ’tis not life that I have begg’d so long; Poor I was slain when Bassianus died.
Oh Tamora, be called a kind queen, And with your own hands kill me here! For it’s not life I’ve begged for so long; I was already killed when Bassianus died.
What begg’st thou, then? fond woman, let me go.
What are you asking for then? Foolish woman, let me go.
’Tis present death I beg; and one thing more That womanhood denies my tongue to tell: O, keep me from their worse than killing lust, And tumble me into some loathsome pit, Where never man’s eye may behold my body: Do this, and be a charitable murderer.
I beg for instant death, and one more thing That a woman can’t say with her tongue: Oh, keep me from their even worse-than-death lust, And throw me into some disgusting pit, Where no man’s eyes can ever see my body: Do this, and you’ll be a merciful killer.
So should I rob my sweet sons of their fee: No, let them satisfy their lust on thee.
Then I’d be stealing my sweet sons’ inheritance: No, let them satisfy their lust with you.
Away! for thou hast stay’d us here too long.
Get away! You’ve kept us here too long.
No grace? no womanhood? Ah, beastly creature! The blot and enemy to our general name! Confusion fall--
No mercy? No womanly decency? Oh, you beastly creature! The stain and enemy to our good name! Let chaos strike—
Nay, then I’ll stop your mouth. Bring thou her husband: This is the hole where Aaron bid us hide him.
Fine, then I’ll shut you up. Bring her husband here: This is the pit where Aaron told us to hide him.
Farewell, my sons: see that you make her sure. Ne’er let my heart know merry cheer indeed, Till all the Andronici be made away. Now will I hence to seek my lovely Moor, And let my spleenful sons this trull deflow’r.
Farewell, my sons: make sure she stays trapped. Let my heart never know true happiness, Until all the Andronici are dead. Now I will go to find my beautiful Moor, And let my angry sons have their way with this slut.
Come on, my lords, the better foot before: Straight will I bring you to the loathsome pit Where I espied the panther fast asleep.
Come on, my lords, step lively: I’ll lead you straight to the disgusting pit Where I saw the panther fast asleep.
My sight is very dull, whate’er it bodes.
My vision’s blurry, whatever that means.
And mine, I promise you; were’t not for shame, Well could I leave our sport to sleep awhile.
And mine too, I swear; if it weren’t for shame, I’d gladly leave this game and sleep for a bit.
What art thou fall’n? What subtle hole is this, Whose mouth is cover’d with rude-growing briers, Upon whose leaves are drops of new-shed blood As fresh as morning dew distill’d on flowers? A very fatal place it seems to me. Speak, brother, hast thou hurt thee with the fall?
What did you fall into? What kind of hidden hole is this, Whose entrance is covered with wild, growing brambles, And on whose leaves are drops of fresh blood, As new as morning dew on flowers? This place seems like a deadly spot. Speak, brother, did you hurt yourself from the fall?
O brother, with the dismall’st object hurt That ever eye with sight made heart lament!
Oh brother, I’m hurt by the most horrible sight That ever made a heart mourn from what its eyes have seen!
[Aside] Now will I fetch the king to find them here, That he thereby may give a likely guess How these were they that made away his brother.
[Aside] Now I’ll fetch the king to find them here, So he can make an educated guess About how these are the ones who killed his brother.
Why dost not comfort me, and help me out From this unhallowed and blood-stained hole?
Why don’t you comfort me, and help me out Of this cursed and blood-soaked hole?
I am surprised with an uncouth fear; A chilling sweat o’er-runs my trembling joints: My heart suspects more than mine eye can see.
I’m struck with an odd fear; A cold sweat runs over my shaking joints: My heart senses more than my eyes can see.
To prove thou hast a true-divining heart, Aaron and thou look down into this den, And see a fearful sight of blood and death.
To show that you truly have a heart that knows, Aaron and you look down into this pit, And see a terrible sight of blood and death.
Aaron is gone; and my compassionate heart Will not permit mine eyes once to behold The thing whereat it trembles by surmise; O, tell me how it is; for ne’er till now Was I a child to fear I know not what.
Aaron is gone; and my compassionate heart Won’t let my eyes see The thing that makes me tremble just to imagine; Oh, tell me what it is; for never until now Was I a child who feared what I didn’t understand.
Lord Bassianus lies embrewed here, All on a heap, like to a slaughter’d lamb, In this detested, dark, blood-drinking pit.
Lord Bassianus lies drenched in blood here, All in a heap, like a slaughtered lamb, In this hated, dark, blood-drinking pit.
If it be dark, how dost thou know ’tis he?
If it’s dark, how do you know it’s him?
Upon his bloody finger he doth wear A precious ring, that lightens all the hole, Which, like a taper in some monument, Doth shine upon the dead man’s earthy cheeks, And shows the ragged entrails of the pit: So pale did shine the moon on Pyramus When he by night lay bathed in maiden blood. O brother, help me with thy fainting hand-- If fear hath made thee faint, as me it hath-- Out of this fell devouring receptacle, As hateful as Cocytus’ misty mouth.
On his bloody finger he wears A precious ring, which lights up the whole pit, Like a candle in a tomb, It shines on the dead man’s dusty cheeks, And shows the torn guts of the pit: So pale the moon shone on Pyramus When he lay bathed in maiden’s blood by night. Oh brother, help me with your fainting hand— If fear has made you faint, as it has made me— Out of this horrible, devouring hole, As hateful as the misty mouth of Cocytus.
Reach me thy hand, that I may help thee out; Or, wanting strength to do thee so much good, I may be pluck’d into the swallowing womb Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus’ grave. I have no strength to pluck thee to the brink.
Reach me your hand, so I can help you out; Or, if I lack the strength to help you that much, I might be dragged into the swallowing womb Of this deep pit, poor Bassianus’ grave. I have no strength to pull you to the edge.
Nor I no strength to climb without thy help.
Nor do I have strength to climb without your help.
Thy hand once more; I will not loose again, Till thou art here aloft, or I below: Thou canst not come to me: I come to thee.
Your hand once more; I won’t let go again, Until you’re up here, or I’m down below: You can’t come to me: I’ll come to you.
Along with me: I’ll see what hole is here, And what he is that now is leap’d into it. Say who art thou that lately didst descend Into this gaping hollow of the earth?
Come with me: I’ll see what hole is here, And who it is that’s jumped into it. Say, who are you that just went down Into this gaping hole in the earth?
The unhappy son of old Andronicus: Brought hither in a most unlucky hour, To find thy brother Bassianus dead.
The unlucky son of old Andronicus: Brought here at a most unfortunate time, To find your brother Bassianus dead.
My brother dead! I know thou dost but jest: He and his lady both are at the lodge Upon the north side of this pleasant chase; ’Tis not an hour since I left him there.
My brother dead! I know you’re just joking: He and his wife are both at the lodge On the north side of this beautiful forest; It’s not even an hour since I left him there.
We know not where you left him all alive; But, out, alas! here have we found him dead.
We don’t know where you left him alive; But, oh no, alas! here we have found him dead.
Where is my lord the king?
Where is my lord the king?
Here, Tamora, though grieved with killing grief.
Here, Tamora, though deeply saddened by the grief of killing.
Where is thy brother Bassianus?
Where is your brother Bassianus?
Now to the bottom dost thou search my wound: Poor Bassianus here lies murdered.
Now you examine the depth of my wound: Poor Bassianus lies here murdered.
Then all too late I bring this fatal writ, The complot of this timeless tragedy; And wonder greatly that man’s face can fold In pleasing smiles such murderous tyranny.
Then, all too late, I bring this deadly message, The plot of this untimely tragedy; And I wonder greatly how a man’s face can smile With such pleasant expressions while hiding murderous cruelty.
[Reads] ’An if we miss to meet him handsomely-- Sweet huntsman, Bassianus ’tis we mean-- Do thou so much as dig the grave for him: Thou know’st our meaning. Look for thy reward Among the nettles at the elder-tree Which overshades the mouth of that same pit Where we decreed to bury Bassianus. Do this, and purchase us thy lasting friends.’ O Tamora! was ever heard the like? This is the pit, and this the elder-tree. Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman out That should have murdered Bassianus here.
[Reads] "And if we fail to meet him properly-- Sweet huntsman, it’s Bassianus we mean-- Do as much as dig his grave: You know what we mean. Look for your reward Among the nettles at the elder-tree Which shades the mouth of the pit Where we decided to bury Bassianus. Do this, and earn our lasting friendship." Oh Tamora! has anything like this ever been heard? This is the pit, and this is the elder-tree. Look, sirs, if you can find the huntsman Who was supposed to murder Bassianus here.
My gracious lord, here is the bag of gold.
My lord, here is the bag of gold.
[To TITUS] Two of thy whelps, fell curs of bloody kind, Have here bereft my brother of his life. Sirs, drag them from the pit unto the prison: There let them bide until we have devised Some never-heard-of torturing pain for them.
[To TITUS] Two of your sons, savage dogs of bloody nature, Have here robbed my brother of his life. Sirs, drag them from the pit to prison: Let them stay there until we’ve figured out Some unimaginable torture for them.
What, are they in this pit? O wondrous thing! How easily murder is discovered!
What, are they in this pit? Oh, amazing! How easily murder is uncovered!
High emperor, upon my feeble knee I beg this boon, with tears not lightly shed, That this fell fault of my accursed sons, Accursed if the fault be proved in them,--
High emperor, on my weak knee I beg this favor, with tears that aren’t lightly shed, That this terrible crime of my cursed sons, Cursed if the crime is proved in them,--
If it be proved! you see it is apparent. Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?
If it is proven! You see it’s obvious. Who found this letter? Tamora, was it you?
Andronicus himself did take it up.
Andronicus himself picked it up.
I did, my lord: yet let me be their bail; For, by my father’s reverend tomb, I vow They shall be ready at your highness’ will To answer their suspicion with their lives.
I did, my lord: but let me be their guarantor; For, by my father’s holy tomb, I swear They will be ready at your command To face their suspicion with their lives.
Thou shalt not bail them: see thou follow me. Some bring the murder’d body, some the murderers: Let them not speak a word; the guilt is plain; For, by my soul, were there worse end than death, That end upon them should be executed.
You won’t help them: just follow me. Some bring the murdered body, some the murderers: Let them not speak a word; the guilt is clear; For, by my soul, if there were a worse punishment than death, That punishment should fall on them.
Andronicus, I will entreat the king; Fear not thy sons; they shall do well enough.
Andronicus, I will ask the king; Don’t worry about your sons; they will be fine.
Come, Lucius, come; stay not to talk with them.
Come, Lucius, come; don’t stop to talk to them.